Letting Go
by Gatekat
Summary: G1 Jazz/Prowl. Jazz and Prowl face the most difficult orn of their lives so far when their twin sparklings are ready for their adult upgrades.


**Fandom**: Transformers G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat  
><strong>Chars<strong>: Jazz/Prowl  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 mech/mech  
><strong>Codes<strong>: Slash, Sticky, Spark-sex, Mechpreg  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Jazz and Prowl face the most difficult orn of their lives so far.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: klik = 1 minute, breem = 8.3 minutes; joor = 1.2 hours; orn = day/32 joor; metacycle = 6 (5.9285) years; vorn = 83 years/14 metacycle  
>This story references SunnySides as Jazz/Prowl's creations in '_Gentle Giant expanded_' but set a long time before.

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><p><strong>Letting Go<strong>

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><p>"I don't know if I can do this," Prowl pressed close against his bonded's back in the darkness of his quarters in Iacon's Autobot headquarters. "They're our <em>creations<em>. I carried them for nearly a vorn, supported their sparks with my own, built their protoforms from my own components," he continued, his chassis shaking minutely in intense distress. "How can I ever think of them as just a pair of warriors, send them out to extinguish as if they matter to me no more than any other mech?"

"Ya manage with meh," Jazz murmured, shifted awkwardly in the tight grip until he could face his bonded.

"You were a mature, experienced mech before we bonded, long before the war. You were never going to be a frontliner when we joined the Autobots," Prowl countered, looking Jazz in the optics. "And I don't manage, I just have a position and reputation that allows the extra care in planning your missions be overlooked by most," he murmured and lowered his helm to rest their forehelms together. "I know we chose to raise them as frontliners, to upgrade and train them to go into battle first and retreat last. I know the numbers say it's their best chance to survive the war given their sparks and Sunstreaker's glitch. It's not making it any easier to adapt my plans to having to send them out to flank Prime and Bombardier. It was bad enough to send them as mechlings to protect Ratchet."

"Shu, lover," Jazz whispered as he cradled his bonded close, both relishing and pained by Prowl's need for the physical closeness and reassurances. It had been a long time. It was usually Jazz who needed the comfort and reassurances that he was doing the right thing.

"What if I'm not on duty when they go out?" Prowl whispered. "I'm still a junior tactician, even if I'm Prime favors me. I'm not always called in; I can't always take the sector or units I want. _Why_ do we have to hide they are ours ... that you're _mine_? It kills me to sit still and pretend I don't want to tear those mechs apart for touching you, that I can't claim you in the rec room and show them all just how much you are mine."

Jazz sighed. It was a question they asked each other too often, but the answer was always the same.

"Because Prime asked us ta do this, and your calculations keep saying it's our best chance at surviving," Jazz murmured, stroking the trembling doorwings in slow, smooth circles in an effort to calm Prowl. "Babe," he brought Prowl's chin up so they were looking at each other again and kissed him slowly, gently. "The _moment_ that battle computer of yours says hiding isn't the best choice, ah'm yours in front of everyone," he whispered a spark-felt promise. "Until then, we make do with these moments," his touch turned tentatively sensual.

"We can't create again," Prowl whispered even as he pressed into the touch.

"Ah know, lover," Jazz murmured against his chevron. "Ah have th' blocks in place. A merge will do us both good."

Prowl nodded and shivered at the touch and gentle vibration against his chevron. "I don't think I can hold back."

"Ah don't expect ya to," Jazz smiled and reached forward to stroke the doorwings splayed out and pressed forward for him to caress. He didn't hold back the moan or roar of his engine in reply to the powerful rumble of Prowl's. He blindly reached between them at the sound of Prowl's interface cover sliding open. That first touch of fingers to still-soft spike, the sensation of it pressurizing in his touch _did_ things to him he didn't understand and didn't care if he ever did.

A whimper, then gasp and full-frame shudder came in response to that light slide across sensitive sensors tied exclusively into the interface protocols was enough for Jazz to flatten his hand and run his palm along the length. Prowl was already loosing control, his face buried against Jazz's neck and both hands gripping his shoulders as his hips thrust forward.

This was probably what Jazz disliked the most about the current situation; they spent so little time together that when they did get to touch as lovers overload came too fast, too hard. It didn't matter if anyone else shared their berth, it wasn't the same, and Prowl had accepted a casual lover a total of once since they'd enlisted no matter what Jazz had told him.

"Shu, babe," Jazz whispered in Prowl's audio and gently urged his lover forward, up his chassis so Jazz's fingers could slide into the too-tight, already slick valve. "Don't hold back. Ya know what it does ta me to hear and see ya pleasure. We have all night."

Trembling violently in the effort to hold the charge in check while he moved, Prowl managed to bring himself upright. His doorwings flared out as he arched his chassis backward, his legs spread wide with Jazz's between them ... every angle perfectly calculated to show off what Jazz ached to see the most; what would arouse the other black and white the most. He reached back, locking his hands around his ankle supports so he wouldn't collapse awkwardly when the building overload lashed through him.

Battle computers were useful for more than planning battles.

It had the desired affect on Jazz, who's engine raced and revved in erratic cycle, adding vibration to the fingers filling Prowl's valve. It was enough for Prowl to surrender fully to the pleasure. Millions of microfilaments, each only a few atoms thick but long enough to be felt, slid into his valve from the slick, flexible walls. Each one nothing but extra surface for tactile sensors, software linked to their extension blocking the building overload.

Prowl couldn't stop the shaking cries that escaped his vocalizer, begging shamelessly for his bonded to replace fingers with his spike, to open his chest plates ... to kindle a new life with him. His sparklings were going to be upgraded to mechs in the morning. Code and processors were in agreement that it was time for another. Only his battle computer objected, but it had been turned off.

"Oh babe, mah Prowler," Jazz's voice was shaky, his plans for the evening tossed out with the stinging rush of charge tingling his fingers from the monofilaments. They gripped and invaded his fingers, making him both reluctant and eager to pull his hand away and sink his spike into that intense slick heat that wanted him so much.

With a shudder Jazz clicked his upper interface cover open, allowing his spike to slide free and pressurize almost instantly. He hissed at the sudden contact with relatively cool air and the crackle of electricity between them. He withdrew his fingers, grabbed Prowl's hip and thrust up hard, sinking fully into his bonded's valve in a single motion. His voice shorted out as it joined Prowl's in a keening scream of raw, primal need from the very beginning of their race.

They were both completely still for a too-long moment, desperate to commit this to permanent memory. Jazz's fingers tightened around Prowl's hips, only to let go so he could unspool several cables from hidden points in his frame, plugging in and unspooling cables from Prowl's chassis to connect to himself.

Without a word between them, Jazz slid his hand up Prowl's body, gently drawing him forward until the slightly larger mech was face to face with him, hands braced on the berth to either side of Jazz's helm.

The kiss was soft, long, and only gradually building in passion until Prowl couldn't hold himself still any longer.

~Jazz...~ he moaned desperately across the hardlines connecting them.

Rich green optics looked up and chest plates clicked as they unlocked, then spread apart almost silently.

~Babe, Prowl, turn your battle computer back on.~

A shudder, a hurt look and sensation, and Jazz interrupted.

~If all three sides agree that kindling now is right, remove the block,~ he explained more fully. ~I ... I'd like another, but the dangers...~

Slowly Prowl nodded, his hips rolling and his valve working the spike seated deep inside him. It was so hard to think. But he activated his battle computer, anticipating the significant drop in the charge as it demanded its full share. Calculation ran, probabilities and odds. The advantages of another sparkling; the risk to it and to them; the risk to the Autobots to have them relative tied down for another three hundred vorns; the risk of how Prime would react.

Prowl's fingers ghosted over the simple but critical energy sink and shunts that prevented kindling. A standard addition for all Autobots to ensure no one carried unless they were very sure they wanted to. He didn't have one. He had managed to avoid it so far with being celibate other than with his bonded, who did have one.

Now Jazz was allowing the choice of whether to kindle to the mech least likely to say no.

It was inexplicable, illogical, and so very Jazz to be willing to give Prowl anything he could, even if it wasn't a good idea.

With his valve quivering and rippling around the spike inside him, hardline connections giving him unparalleled access to Jazz's systems, Prowl cycled his vents hard and fast, his protocols and processors at war with his battle computer while Jazz remained as still and quiet as possible.

It all ghosted through and around Jazz's processors, the battle computer quite happy to use the advanced processors that were now peripheral to Prowl's. While a strain, it was also a look into how Prowl experienced _life_ that Jazz would always cherish.

Gradually, Prowl's battle computer withdrew to provide a summary to its owner.

With reverent, careful fingers that were at odds with his trembling frame, Prowl disconnected the block and set it on the berthside table.

~Kindle with me, my reason for _living_,~ Prowl murmured as he slowly lowered his own chest, how wide open and slipping his sparklight in the dark room, to touch his bonded's spark. ~If Primus allows, I would raise another.~


End file.
